A History

by Bob Bradshaw

Baby,
reset your watch:

Just nineteen hours ago,
Earth saw, for the first time,
the stars straddling its saddles of waves.

And ninety minutes ago
a froth of bubbles watched the skies,
as pioneers of the land waited for dusk.

Seven minutes ago
our ancestors risked the
hazardous footing of branches, the leaves skeptical.

So don't talk of waiting, darling:

Already an archaeologist,
as white-haired as the moon, is scraping
through tons of decayed pines, wedging off our roof's tiles:

our child having died, by now, thousands of years ago.

First published in The Central California Poetry Journal
Copyright © 2000, Bob Bradshaw

Bob Bradshaw is a programmer living in Redwood City, CA. Recent publications include work at Red River Review, flashquake, Paumanok Review, Wolf Moon Press, and Slow Trains.